The Haunted Minstrel

                                                        The Haunted Minstrel

                                                           by Rich Kopacz

Casimir stared nervously at the menacing beast before him. Its long, black-haired head loomed above him and its dark eyes seem to reflect an endless abyss. The half-elf looked down, shuddering, and peered instead at the large hooves, but that was a mistake. Immediately, childhood memories flashed in his head, images of a man being crushed under very similar hooves.

The beast gave an aggressive huff and clomped its bone-breaking feet. 

Of course, one of the voices in Casimir’s head mocked.

Soon it will be your bones that are broken. 

I see your body crushed into powder, Omen

boomed in his typically deep, moody, and prophetic manner. 

There’s no way you can survive, Cas, mocked

a second voice, then cackled. This was Jeer, less formal and more bitter.

An old gnome walked back out from the dark stables behind

Casimir. She adjusted her enormous spectacles and looked up at him expectantly. 

“Uh... on second thought, I think I’ll pass,” Casimir said

aloud. 

“Aw... but Onyx here is one of my best horses,” the gnome

replied. 

“I’m sure it is,” Casimir said doubtfully as he glanced

over at Onyx. “But I think I’ll just walk to Waterford instead.” 

“Ain’t

a good idea with that storm coming in,” the gnome said, pointing up to the

grey, dangerous sky. “’Sides, you won’t

get there before dark, and most folks in that superstitious village will be

indoors.” 

Casimir saw Onyx glaring at him intensely while the voices

continued to harass him. Seeing what he could only assume was a murderous

intent in the horse’s eyes, he made up his mind. 

“I mean you have good points,” Casimir forced. “But I’m

sticking to my decision.” 

“Oh well, your loss,” the gnome shrugged, tugging Onyx back

into its stable. 

You have made a grave mistake,

Omen said. 

Casimir returned to the inn, grabbed his stuff and left

town. The air of the day was cold and wet. The grassy fields before him were

calm and muddy. He walked along a rough path in the direction he thought was

best. Several times there were crossroads, and every time the voices told him

to go the wrong way. Eventually, Jeer told him to go the correct way, hoping to

trip him up by making him go the other way. Thankfully, Casimir had figured out

their games after dealing with them for so long. 

You’re no fun anymore, Cas,

Jeer pouted. 

“No, I try not to be,” Casimir responded. 

The path you are travelling

is trodden with death’s handwriting, Omen said. 

Wha- What does that even mean, idiot?!

Jeer yelled. 

My prophecies shall all become known when it has

happened, Omen spoke

gravely. 

Shut up! You’re

the reason he doesn’t take us

seriously anymore, Jeer

accused. 

Watch your tongue. Even spirits

have their ends... Omen warned. 

Enough with that! We both know you can’t

do anything! Jeer replied. 

“CAN BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!?” Casimir interjected. 

Aw... did we upset you? HAHAHAHA!

Jeer turned his attention back to Casimir. As if we’ll

ever shut up... 

Silence shall only come to you in the grave,

Omen foretold. 

The banter between these two, while a common enough routine

for Casimir, was still completely horrendous. 

The trip was long and cold and muddy and annoying with the

constant din of the voices. Finally, Casimir pulled out his fiddle. The ornate

instrument rested easily in his grasp. He pulled his bow and began playing a

simple tune while he walked. Soon, as he continued, the voices were drowned out

by the peace of the music. Here, in his music, he could rest. Here, he could

relax and wash himself from any of his previous

inhibitions. Here, his mind could simply be an empty void, filled only with the

playing of a fiddle. 

By the time he finished his song, the sky had grown much

darker and the forest that held Waterford loomed much closer. In fact, he could

see a large sign next to the path at the entrance of the forest. As he drew

closer, he could make out the sign: “Waterford Village”.

Simple

text

on a simple plank of wood. 

Casimir’s surroundings became ever darker as he walked into

the shaded woods, then the trees opened up to reveal a humble, yet active

village. Each house was

nestled comfortably in the embrace of the surrounding grove. Many

folks wandered around the town, trading goods with one another.

Casimir was quickly noticed by all he passed. While no words were spoken to

him, he

recognized the odd looks people gave him and saw how

they all subtly moved around him or changed direction.

He tried to ask for directions, but no one stuck around

to talk to him. 

Just at that moment, the

bell in the village began ringing loudly.

Casimir saw as

the people

in the village all stopped what they were doing and fled into the nearest

building. The bell still rang though he noticed that no one was

ringing it. No one visible, at least. 

“Hey, stranger!” a voice shouted from behind Casimir.

“Need some

help?” 

Casimir saw a man standing in a doorway. He was an older

gentleman, a human. He had short grey hair and the wrinkles

in his face generously displayed his age. While the

man’s eyes held no sign of fear or insecurity, Casimir still noticed that the

man was

very intentionally staying within the building. 

“Yes, I… thank you, sir,” Casimir said as

he approached. 

Casimir followed the man inside. There was only a

small room in

the main floor and stairs leading to a second one.

The old man took a seat on a couch and gestured for Casimir to sit in the

ornate chair beside it. They faced a lit fireplace, which

served as the only source of light for the

room. They both sat staring at the fire for a long moment of silence. 

“So, what brings you to Waterford?” the man eventually

asked. 

“Truth be told, I’m doing research into a superstition

surrounding this place,” Casimir responded. 

“Well that hardly narrows anything

down,” the man chuckled. “We have a whole

lot of tales and ghosts in this town. A gaggle, if

you will,” 

“I’m specifically looking for

something called the Encyclopedia of the Risen,” 

At this, the man turned to Casimir and studied his face. He

then turned back to the fire

and sighed. “Legend has it, that thing is what’s

been causing all this trouble for us. I’d

be happy to be rid of the thing.” 

“The book is

around here then?” 

The old man nodded. “It’s on the other

side of the bridge. We’ve been wanting

to dispose of it for a long time, but no soul’s been brave enough to cross into

the

ghost’s hunting grounds. They’d

all rather be safe on this side of the bridge.” 

“The ghosts don’t cross the bridge?” 

“Supposedly. Personally,

I think that’s

just a bunch of malarky.” 

“You don’t believe in ghosts?” Casimir asked. 

“No, I believe in

ghosts. I’ve just lived

long enough to learn that ghosts tend to dwell wherever

they please.” 

He’s not wrong, Cas,

Jeer added. We aren’t

bound by such restrictions like

you.

We can go where we want… and torment whoever. 

And yet you’re

trapped in my head with no escape, Casimir

responded. 

As are you, Jeer mocked

before disappearing into the mess of noises rattling in Casimir’s head again. 

“Still, legend says they stay behind their bridge,”

the man shrugged. 

“Thank you very much,” Casimir said before standing up.

“One last thing, where would this bridge be located?" 

"Arden Forest. Just keep following the paths east from

our town and you’ll find it,”

the man responded. 

Casimir began heading for

the door. 

“And there you’ll

meet your untimely end,” the man’s voice said. 

Casimir quickly turned around.

“Excuse me?” he asked. 

The man looked up at him from the couch

with a neutral expression. 

“Did you… say something?” Casimir asked. 

The man only slowly shook his head. 

“Right… sorry,” 

Casimir exited the house into the humid,

still air. The sun had

begun

setting, causing the already dark, grey skies to darken even more. The echo

of the bell still hung in the air,

and there

was no one in sight. Casimir turned his eyes to Arden

Forest, the destination of the cursed bridge, and hopefully the Encyclopedia of

the Risen. 

The forest entrance breathed cold, dead air onto him. The

trees drooped over the rough dirt path, as if in mourning. The breeze no longer

carried the pleasant, brisk, autumnal wind. Instead, it was just an empty moan. 

For once, not even the voices spoke. But, as opposed to

feeling relief in the

freedom from the voices’ torment, Casimir

felt alone and isolated. He felt as

a lone sheep, separated

from its herd and led into the den of the wolves. 

The dirt path he traveled on twisted and turned

in sharp angles. He had no way of seeing what had to

be hiding behind every shadowy corner. 

Finally, after what felt like hours, Casimir approached a stone

bridge that sat above a black river, the latter reflecting the moonlight. The

bridge was ancient and covered in moss and mold. Cracks ran along much of it,

though it still stood as one solid structure. 

Casimir hesitantly crossed it. It shook underneath his

weight, but

to his surprise, held itself together.

You were lucky this time, Casimir,

Jeer suddenly spoke, causing Casimir to jump. but

don’t

count on your luck holding for very long. 

“I don’t know, Jeer,” Casimir responded aloud. “My luck’s

held up so far... somehow.” 

True... though you haven’t

even met the spirit that guards these woods yet. I doubt it’ll

be much longer before you’re toast. 

As Casimir trudged forward, the trees creaked and banged

against each other. The end of the path got nearer and nearer while the storm

became louder and louder. Rain started falling, drenching the already-miserable

forest in despair. Casimir got close enough to the end so that he could see it

made a sharp turn. Still, he wasn’t right there,

and it would be a bit of a journey through this growing storm. As he considered

turning back, lightning flashed quickly which was soon followed by a clap of

thunder. 

However, it was a different noise that caused Casimir’s

heart to nearly stop beating. A foreboding clomp

trotted his way. He heard the huffs and snorts of a familiar beast. The imagery

of the man from his childhood being crushed flashed through his brain once

more.  

Here Death comes, upon his steed,

boomed Omen.  

Coming out from beyond the corner of the path was a

headless man. A headless man riding a fiery horse. 

Hehehe... this is going to be very

fun,

cackled

Jeer. 

This horse was worse than any that Casimir had seen. Its

hair was as pale as the moon. Its fiery mane flared a nauseous green. Its eyes

were empty sockets that tried to pull Casimir in as it glared. 

The man on the horse slowly lifted his finger and pointed

at Casimir. As he did, the horse began charging at him. Instinctually, Casimir

began running. The lightning flashed as the rain danced around him. He could

hear the hooves catching up behind him, but he did not turn around. The

surrounding trees crashed into each other which caused branches to break and

fall on Casimir. 

Ahead of him, he could see the bridge. His only hope. He

recalled the tales that the spirit of the woods never crossed the bridge. If he

could only make it across, he would be safe. 

You’ll never make it,

said one of the two voices, though Casimir was unsure of which at this point. 

Right as Casimir neared the bridge, an enormous gust of

wind blew. Several large branches again fell from the trees, nearly hitting him.

Unfortunately, several of them fell on the bridge, which immediately

collapsed with a crash. 

No way out now, Cas! 

He turned around in horror. The glowing steed was only

seconds away from trampling him. As he prepared to face death, a voice rang

through his head. But it wasn’t Omen nor

Jeer. It was a pleasant voice. It was kind, and yet commanding. It reminded

Casimir of his mother in some ways. But he knew it was the familiar voice of

the mysterious spirit called Guidance. 

Play... Guidance

said. 

What? Casimir asked

mentally. Play? What

did that mean? 

Play! Guidance

repeated, though more stern this time. 

What do you mean? Casimir again

questioned. 

Play! Guidance

shouted in his head. 

Then Casimir realized. He nodded to the voice and pulled

out his fiddle. Time seemed to have slowed down. Gently, he set his bow over

the strings. With a quick, graceful gesture, he played. 

The horse still charged at him down the path, getting ever

closer with every passing second. But Casimir did not realize this. He no

longer heard its hooves hastily moving towards him. He couldn’t

see the spectral beast that approached him nor hear the thunder nor the rain.

He couldn’t

smell the wet earth beneath nor the decay that lingered off the horse or its

rider. 

No, all he could feel was the peaceful and beautiful

embrace of music. He played as the creature got closer and closer and closer.

Yet with every step it took, his music grew louder. He couldn’t

see it, but somewhere within the cold empty sockets of the horse’s eyes, there

was a flash of fear. 

It finally came right before him. Yet, instead of crushing

him, it stopped in its tracks. As Casimir fiddled, it began stomping in

distress. It snorted and huffed as he continued. The headless man struggled to maintain

control as the horse reared up on its hindlegs. Then, it froze in its pose. No

movement nor sound. The green flame on it flickered and died. 

Casimir played one last dramatic note as a burst of air

blew by. As it blew away, so did the horse and its rider, gone without a trace. 

                                                                 ******

Casimir stared off into the endless swirling mists. He had

no idea where he’d end up on

the other side, but he knew that it would be important. He stared down at the

book he clutched in his hand. It was a dark purple leatherback book that was filled

with ancient pages. Golden text on the front read “The

Encyclopedia of the Risen”. 

So, you succeeded this time, Jeer

grumbled. But you can’t

live forever. 

Indeed... failure is inevitable and death inescapable,

Omen said. 

Casimir rolled his eyes, though he could feel the

butterflies in his stomach. He gradually looked down at the beast he rode. Onyx

stared back up at him with its bottomless black eyes. Despite the horrifying

images that still lingered in the back of his head, Casimir then smiled back.

He patted Onyx’s neck and rode it into the high walls of the mist, unsure of

his destination, but sure he would make it...